


Girl Stuff

by NewNewDoctor (DisnerdingAvenger)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Mild Angst, Mummy's a hot mess, alternately titled "Thirteen's Journey toward Self-Discovery", but we all love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisnerdingAvenger/pseuds/NewNewDoctor
Summary: The Doctor is trying to figure out what sort of woman she is in the aftermath of her thirteenth regeneration. She turns to Cosmopolitan magazine for some (not so) helpful tips.





	Girl Stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meganseverafter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganseverafter/gifts).



> Megan is essentially a co-creator on this one. The concept was born out of watching Iliza Shlesinger's Netflix specials together, concocting ridiculous headcanons that coincided with the dialogue, and the rest is history. It should be noted that most of the "tips" actually come from said Netflix specials; I've probably only read two Cosmopolitans in my entire life. From what I've seen, I'm not missing very much.

The Doctor considered herself an expert in… well, just about everything. You don’t live as long, see as much, and do as many things as she had without learning a thing or two. There were, however, things that the Doctor _didn’t_ know – which she was coming to terms with quite quickly as of late.

She learned, not long after regenerating, that she had absolutely no idea how to be a woman. Of course, she’d _thought_ that she understood it; after travelling with mainly female companions, she had assumed that she had women down to a science. As it would turn out, she was quite wrong.

The September issue of _Cosmopolitan_ magazine - which she’d been flipping through at a newsstand that she had parked the TARDIS near while Yaz, Ryan, and Graham took a day to regroup - made her realize that she didn’t know the first thing about being a woman. Being a woman was complicated, and had many complex steps and rituals and rights of passage, and she’d apparently been totally in the dark about it for all these years. So, after shoving the magazine into one of the transdimensional pockets of her coat, she’d marched back to the TARDIS on a mission.

The Doctor was going to become - like she was at so many other things - an expert at womanhood.

* * *

  

 **Tip #1:** **_Women love Beyoncé, Heart, and Taylor Swift – in that order._ **

 

After a few months of travelling with the Doctor, Team TARDIS liked to think that they knew her quite well. They understood her quirks and were able to (sort of) predict her behaviour. Of course, the Doctor also had a tendency to be full of surprises, so her three best mates weren’t exactly _shocked_ when they walked onto the TARDIS to find the control room vacant, with a familiar song echoing from somewhere deep within the ship - the media room being the most likely source of the music.

His brow furrowed, Ryan turned to look at Yaz and asked, “Is that… Is she listening to ‘Single Ladies’?”

“Sounds like it,” Yaz agreed and, almost hesitantly, the three of them set off in search of the Doctor. When they found her, they weren’t sure whether to laugh or to back away before she realized she had been caught.

The latter option went out the metaphorical window when she caught sight of the three of them lurking in the door to the media room, eyes all the size of saucers. They had expected to find the Doctor tinkering with something to an unconventional soundtrack; they had _not_ expected to find her _dancing._ Since when did the Doctor dance?

“Hey gang!” she called out in her usual jovial manner, still keeping up with the choreography – surprisingly well, they couldn’t help but notice.

“Hey,” Yaz greeted in return, doing her best to keep any traces of amusement tampered down. “So… What’ve you been up to?”

A decent amount of time seemed to have gone into learning the “Single Ladies” choreography, but the Doctor chose not to acknowledge the days’ worth of practice, simply responding with, “Oh, y’know – girl stuff,” in the middle of a complicated turn.

“Girl stuff?” Ryan asked as he glanced at Yaz out of the corner of his eye; she clearly didn’t know what to do with this new development, either.

“Girl stuff!” the Doctor confirmed as she danced. “Practicing Beyoncé’s choreography, reminding myself how to play ‘What About Love?’ on the guitar – I’m quite good at it, y’know.”

“Beyoncé’s choreography?” Graham asked and the Doctor shook her head as she, finally, stopped dancing – if only because the song had ended.

“The guitar,” she clarified, scrunching up her nose afterward as she added, “Although, I _am_ getting better at the dancing. Don’t you think?”

Yaz, Ryan, and Graham all gave confirmatory exclamations of “oh yes!” and “very,” which seemed to please the Doctor very much. Tucking her thumbs beneath her suspenders while she grinned, she asked, “Tell me – what’re your thoughts on Taylor Swift?”

Yaz gave a non-committal shrug and Ryan said, “Don’t mind her, I suppose,” but Graham exclaimed, “Oh, I _love_ Taylor Swift!”

Yaz and Ryan both stared at him, which prompted him to defensively ask, “What? I think she’s fun.”

“Me too!” the Doctor declared, lurching forward to grab Graham’s arm before hurrying, pulling him along in the process, out to the console room. “Which is why _we_ are going to a Taylor Swift concert; Sydney, Australia, 2015. Great big venue – plenty of room to ‘shake it off’.”

Grinning at her own pun and nudging Graham’s side, the Doctor busied herself with punching in the necessary coordinates. Yaz and Ryan exchanged looks as they stood around the console. A Taylor Swift concert didn’t _exactly_ seem like the Doctor’s usual sort of adventure, but she really _was_ full of surprises…  

 

 **Tip #2:** **_Women are crafty. They love Pinterest and mason jar art._ **

 

Ryan knew that the TARDIS had its own unique, albeit bizarre sense of style when it came to decorating, but the ship’s recent fixation was beginning to feel a bit… excessive.

There were mason jars _everywhere._ The Doctor had dropped them all off for the weekend, claiming she had some repairs that she needed to make, and when she came back to get them, the TARDIS was absolutely _overrun_ with the rustic decorative staple. The media room, the galley, and all of their bedrooms now had hand-painted mason jars filled with colourful floral arrangements from a variety of planets proudly on display on nearly every available surface; all of the teacups had been replaced with mugs made out of multi-coloured mason jars; the Doctor’s tools were no longer in a case, but instead organized in mason jars of varying sizes which had been painted the seven colours of the rainbow; and, as Ryan had just noticed, his toothbrush holder had been replaced by a mason jar filled with blue sand.

He was just walking out of his bedroom with it in hand to question the Doctor when Yaz did the same. The mason jar in her hand was filled with purple sand.

“Is the TARDIS glitching?” he asked, glancing between Yaz’s homemade toothbrush holder and his own, and she shrugged.

“I was about to ask the same thing. You noticed it too, then?”

“That the ship’s overflowing with mason jars? Kind of hard to miss.”

When Graham walked out of his own bedroom, Yaz asked, “What about you? Have you got a mason jar toothbrush holder?”

Pausing, he looked at the mason jars in both of their hands and grinned, nodding. “Mine’s got green sand. Neat, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it would be if _everything_ hadn’t been replaced with the bloody things,” Ryan muttered, shaking his head, and Graham made a thoughtful face before nodding.

“I _do_ miss my usual teacup…”

 

 **Tip #3:** **_Women are really involved with animal shelters._ **

 

All four of them were sitting in the galley one evening, eating ice cream they had picked up on Penhaxico Two, when the Doctor asked, “Do you lot think I’m lonely?”

Yaz, Ryan, and Graham all exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Deciding to take one for the team, Graham asked, “What makes you say that, Doc?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she mused, poking at her strawberry and banana flavoured ice cream with her spoon before continuing. “I’ve just noticed that I seem to have a habit of picking up strays.”

Blinking several times, pausing her vanilla-chocolate swirl halfway to her mouth, Yaz asked, “…are there animals on the TARDIS that we ought to be aware of?”

“Oh, no,” the Doctor assured them, shaking her head. “None that you need to be worried about, anyway. There’s a horse still wandering about, but it mostly keeps to itself.”

“Sorry – did you just say there’s a _horse_ on the TARDIS?” Ryan asked and the Doctor waved a dismissive hand.

“It’s fine; the TARDIS keeps it fed. Nothing to concern yourselves with. Anyhow, I wasn’t talking about _animal_ strays. I was talking about… well, you lot.”

“Oi!” Yaz huffed, frowning. “We’re not _strays_.”

“I don’t mean you _personally;_ I meant humans in _general_. I’m always popping about, making sure the Earth’s taken care of, and I have a habit of… y’know, taking people in. You’re not the first I’ve brought along, after all. There have been lots over the past several centuries.”

“Why would you think that makes you lonely?” Graham asked, circling back to the Doctor’s original question, and she pursed her lips as she put her spoon down.

“Well… Some might say that ladies who take in strays are lonely.”

Pausing for a long moment, Ryan finally broke the silence that had fallen by asking, “Doctor, are you… are you talkin’ about _crazy cat ladies?_ ”

Almost instantaneously, the Doctor made a face of obvious displeasure.

“Of _course_ not. Don’t like cats, me; you can’t trust ‘em. A cat is never sorry for what it did; it’s only ever sorry that it got caught.”

Positive that it would take too long to unpack whatever beef the Doctor had with cats, Yaz exchanged a glance with Graham before saying, “Alright – so _we’re_ like your cats, then. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Humans are your cats. You’re a… a crazy human lady.” Shaking her head, she added, “I don’t like that term, though – ‘crazy cat lady’. Never have. Makes it sound like a lady’s crazy for choosing to have cats instead of kids, which isn’t fair. If you wanna have ten cats, go ahead and have ten cats. Whose business is it but your own?”

“Besides,” Graham cut in, “Everybody’s lonely if they’re all on their own. Some people take in cats – some people take in people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. We make our own family, don’t we?”

Looking over at Ryan, Graham offered his step-grandson a smile and earned a small one in return. Watching the exchange, the Doctor allowed herself to relax and smile herself, tucking into her ice cream once again.

They really were brilliant, humans; she was quite sure that she’d keep bringing them along, regardless of whether or not she felt lonely.

No cats, though. She drew the line at letting cats on her ship.

 

 **Tip #4:** **_To test if a guy likes you, make him do things._ **

 

“Ryan?”

Ryan was currently sitting on the jump seat in the control room, flipping through a comic book and periodically munching on dispensed biscuits, when the Doctor called his name. _She_ was currently dangling from the ceiling, her legs hooked around one of the TARDIS’s coral support beams with several exposed wires dangling in front of her. Evidently, the time rotor was malfunctioning; it was whizzing when it ought to have been whirring. She’d been busy all morning, tinkering and fiddling.

“Yeah?” Ryan asked, tilting his head back to look up at her.

“Can you toss me up a socket wrench?”

“Sure-”

“And a pair of tweezers?”

“Yeah, sure, no proble-”

“And the bolt cutters, my soldering gun, that pair of goggles hanging from that railing over there, and fourteen double-ended dowel screws?”

Ryan stared up at the Doctor for a long moment. He blinked. She blinked.

“Anything else?”

Grinning, she mused, “A biscuit would be nice.”

Tossing his comic aside, Ryan got to his feet and stepped on the biscuit dispenser pedal, tossing one up to the Doctor before diligently setting about collecting everything else she had asked for.

Catching her biscuit, the Doctor smirked and considered her experiment a proper success.

Glancing toward the hallway as she nibbled on her biscuit, she called out, “Graham?”

 

 **Tip #5:** **_Women love Instagram, taking selfies, and posting pictures of food._ **

 

The Doctor had never quite been sure about ‘smart’ phones. For as long as possible, she’d stuck with simpler flip phones purely because she disliked the idea of having a phone that thought it was smarter than she was. What could Siri possibly tell her that she didn’t already know? Nothing, that’s what. Siri didn’t even know how many moons Skaro had.

_(Three. It had three moons.)_

But then she’d started catching on to the concept of social media; Amy had found ‘poking’ Rory on Facebook when he was sitting right beside her hilarious; Clara had been fond of ‘tweeting’; and Bill had been rather obsessed with ‘vlogging’ from far-flung planets purely to see how the blokes in the comments section would try to “mansplain” her use of CGI and whether or not it was realistic.

_(He’d needed to have ‘mansplaining’ explained to him at the time. He’d found it mildly amusing, if only because he was sure Donna would have accused him of it back in the day.)_

Yaz and Ryan, she had quickly realized, were very into Instagram. Neither of them had expected the Doctor to ask them to set her up with an account, though. That was a surprise in and of itself.

“Since when is social media your thing? You said that phone was ‘strictly for emergencies’ if I’m remembering correctly,” Yaz mused. The Doctor had just plunked herself down onto the couch in the media room, directly in the middle of Yaz and Ryan, who had been playing Mario Kart. They’d assumed, when the Doctor walked in with her ‘I’m on a mission’ look on her face, that she wanted to play, too. That would have been more in character than _this._

“People change, Yaz,” the Doctor stated plainly as she fiddled with the smartphone in her hand, lips pursed. After a moment she stated, “I need someplace to post my selfies and pictures of food. That’s what Instagram’s for, yeah?”

“Since when do you take selfies and pictures of food?” Ryan asked, setting aside his Wii remote. The Doctor heaved a very heavy sigh in response to his question.

“It’s _new_. New me, new habits; I’m still figuring it all out, and today I figured out that I need an Instagram.”

“For selfies and food pics,” Yaz observed and the Doctor nodded.

“For selfies and food pics.”

“Alright, then,” Yaz mused, taking the Doctor’s phone and setting about downloading the app. If she was so determined, there was really no stopping her, bizarre as the development may be. “The first thing that you’ll need is a username.”

“Oooh!” Ryan chimed in, scooting closer on the sofa. “You ought to use something like ‘ladyinthebluebox’ or ‘blueboxnbiscuits’. Y’know, ‘cause of your blue box-”

“-and because I love biscuits!” the Doctor finished, grinning. “Oh, that’s good. That’s clever.”

An hour later, ‘Jane Smith’ was busy posting up a storm of heavily filtered photos of food no one on Earth had ever seen before, #policeboxesinunexpectedplaces, and several selfies – although none of just _herself_. She much preferred posting photos under which she could include ‘#fam’ in the caption.

 

 **Tip #6:** **_When particularly hormonal, it’s important to eat ice cream, listen to Sarah McLachlan, and cry._ **

 

The Doctor had never considered herself emotionally stunted; every regeneration she had ever embodied had a proper cry every now and then. But there were a few… _differences_ that she’d noticed went along with this new body that she had never experienced before.

For one thing, her temper ran hotter now than it did even when she ran around in pinstripes and had crazy hair – although that could largely be attributed to the sexism she had only just begun to experience. Why was being a woman so _difficult?_ People always assumed she was less capable now than she was before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure, she was a few inches shorter, but she was also more agile than she had been as a grey-haired Scotsman. For men to just _assume_ she was incapable of doing the same things as them, particularly the further back they travelled in time, was enough to drive her mad.

However, (as a quick body scan in the med-bay had informed her long before she picked up her treasured copy of _Cosmopolitan_ ), this body was far more… _hormonal_ than the last twelve had been. She got angry easier, she blushed far more than she ever did before, and she’d developed a rather frustrating tendency to _cry –_ and, while she had never been ashamed of crying before, she had never been brought to tears by such _simple things_ as a man. Evidently, that was the curse of heightened levels of estrogen – and, even more frustrating, she’d quickly learned that Gallifreyan biology had _higher_ estrogen levels than that of humans.

Which meant that, what had begun as a simple marathon of the _Toy Story_ films while she waited for the others to return from doing their Earth-bound errands, ended up with her curled into a ball on the media room’s sofa, eating copious amounts of leftover Penhaxico Two ice cream, and wrapped up in a blanket from a bedroom that she hadn’t entered in years.

She’d been having a grand old time until the scene in which Jessie reflects upon life with her owner before ending up in a collector’s shop, and then everything went downhill – not because the scene was particularly sad (even though it was), but because of the bloody _song_ playing in the background.

 _Cosmopolitan_ had warned her that this would happen. Sarah McLachlan songs were what you listened to when you felt like crying; it was why they used them in all of those sad commercials about homeless pets. She’d nearly gone and adopted a cat the first time that she saw one on Earth – and that was _saying_ something.

The song in question was called “When She Loved Me” and it had rather cruelly plowed into the Doctor like a freight train carrying nothing but bricks.

Thus, she wound up lying on the couch, demolishing a pint of raspberry ripple and curled up in one of Rose Tyler’s old pink blankets while she _bawled her eyes out_.

The film had been turned off long ago but she still had the song playing, echoing throughout the TARDIS – because the Doctor was nothing if not a masochist.

 _When somebody loved me_   
_Everything was beautiful_   
_Every hour we spent together_ _  
_Lives within my heart

 _And when she was sad_   
_I was there to dry her tears_   
_And when was happy so was I_ _  
_When she loved me

Snivelling, the Doctor exhaled a miserable noise as she stuck another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, staring up at the ceiling while the tears rolled down her cheeks. It had been _years_ since she’d cried over Rose Tyler – _years_ …

 _Through the summer and the fall_   
_We had each other, that was all_   
_Just she and I together_ _  
_Like it was meant to be

 _And when she was lonely_   
_I was there to comfort her_ _  
_And I knew that she loved me

Songs had a way of bringing old feelings right back up to the surface, though, didn’t they? It didn’t matter whether a year had passed, or ten years, or an entire century; a particularly relatable string of Sarah McLachlan lyrics was capable of tugging at your heartstrings and making an old wound feel brand new.

 _So the years went by_   
_I stayed the same_   
_But she began to drift away_   
_I was left alone_   
_Still I waited for the day_ _  
_When she'd say I will always love you

For all the Doctor knew, Rose Tyler never even thought about her. She had _him_ , after all - the meta-crisis version of her tenth self – and that was _good._ Rose Tyler deserved someone that she could have a proper life with; someone that would grow old with her; someone who could give her things the Doctor never could have. But that didn’t make the memories sting any less, nor did it remove the pain of that loss, even after all these years. It didn’t matter how much time had gone by or how much had happened since those days; it still hurt.

 _Lonely and forgotten_   
_Never thought she'd look my way_   
_And she smiled at me and held me_   
_Just like she used to do_   
_Like she loved me_ _  
_When she loved me

Draping an arm over her eyes, willing her tears to stop, the Doctor realized with frustration that she _couldn’t stop crying._ The floodgates had been ripped open and no amount of superior Time Lord biology could force them to shut again. Visions of a certain pink and yellow human with pretty brown eyes were dancing around in her head and she realized, with yet another pang, that her current appearance made rather a lot of sense. She’d been thinking about Rose when it happened – just a fleeting thought, about snow and New Year’s Eve – and then she came through the regeneration not only as a blonde but as a blonde _woman._

If she couldn’t _have_ Rose Tyler, at least she could _resemble_ her.

The Doctor really _was_ a masochist.

Realizing, rather miserably, that her ice cream was gone, the Doctor snivelled again and forced herself to get up, still wrapped in the blanket she had stolen from Rose Tyler’s old room as she made her way to the galley. She didn’t want more ice cream; she wanted _tea_. A cuppa could fix anything, after all; that’s what Jackie had always said.

The song still playing on repeat, the Doctor didn’t even realize that she was no longer alone until she was already in the galley, puffy-eyed and with messy hair, where she came face-to-face with a clearly very startled Yaz.

“Doctor?” her companion asked, gaping at her. When she’d walked onto the TARDIS, shopping bags in hand, she had just assumed that the music was another “Single Ladies” situation. Sure, the tempo was significantly slower, but she’d stopped questioning the Doctor’s whims ages ago. This didn’t seem like a silly whim, though; she looked upset. _Terribly_ upset. Taking a small step closer, Yaz asked, “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, her teary eyes blown wide, the Doctor stumbled for an answer and did her best to infuse her usual pep into her voice.

“Wrong? N-Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. Why would anything be wrong? I’m fine. Always fine, me. Always fine in the end. Just… came to… get some tea!” she insisted, recalling her reason for entering the galley. Although, when she pulled the cupboards open, the Doctor turned a few shades paler and immediately set about rifling through the colourful mason jars.

“Oh, no, no, _no…_ ” she mumbled, sounding rather panicked, and her pink blanket fell to the floor in the midst of her desperate search. “No, _no,_ **_no…_ **”

“Doctor-?”

“ _Where is it?_ ” she shouted, partially to herself and partially to the TARDIS, as she anxiously shoved the makeshift mugs aside. She was nearly hyperventilating at this point.

“Where’s what? Doctor, what’s-?”

“My _tear mug!_ ” she exclaimed, taking a few stumbling steps backward from the cupboard, her hazel eyes even wider than before as more tears leaked down her cheeks. “Medium-sized, porcelain, with the union jack on it – my _tear mug,_ for when I feel like having a cuppa and a good cry! For when I would start thinking about _her._ I need it! I need that mug! _I need Rose’s mug_ -!”

Arms wrapped around herself, the Doctor dissolved into a proper fit of sobs, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew it was silly, to have started crying over something as simple as a song, but it really _had_ brought back all of those old memories and with them all of the old feelings – like deep love and profound loss. Her twin-hearts still ached with it, even now.

Startled into action, Yaz hurried forward and tugged the Doctor into a tight hug which the Doctor almost desperately returned, her arms winding around Yaz’s middle while she buried her face into her companion’s shoulder, heaving another miserable sob. Unsure of how to comfort her when she didn’t even really understand the source of the problem, Yaz simply let the Doctor cry herself out until she had no tears left to cry; sometimes that really is all that you can do.

Finally, when the Doctor fell silent, Yaz quietly asked, “Who’s Rose?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, the Doctor sniffled and stayed quiet for a long time until, finally, she started talking about a night from so very long ago with living plastic in the basement of a London department store…

 

 **Tip #7:** **_Women love juices, smoothies, and K A L E (_ ** **_don’t forget the kale_ ** **_)._ **

 

“Have we got any kale?”

It had been several days now since her Sarah McLachlan breakdown and the Doctor was doing her best to put it behind her. It _had_ been a valuable tip; if she ever felt like _actively_ having a good cry, she knew what song to go for. It just hadn’t been a very _pleasant_ surprise in the midst of a _very_ pleasant Pixar marathon. She would need to be more careful from now on; perhaps she’d make a note of what films included Sarah McLachlan songs and make a point of avoiding them like the plague. After all, it was better to be safe than to be reduced to a sobbing, ice cream eating, Rose Tyler missing mess.

Yaz had been a great help through it all; it was nice, really, to talk about Rose with someone who was willing to listen. She felt… _lighter,_ sort of, now that she had gotten so much off of her chest.

Which meant it was onto the next step in becoming a master of womanhood: juices, smoothies, and kale.

Kale, as it turned out, could be used in both juices _and_ smoothies. Go figure!

Glancing up from his eggs, given the three companions were huddled around the table in the galley eating breakfast, Ryan stared at the Doctor as if she had just sprouted a second head.

“Kale? What d’you want kale for?”

“For breakfast,” the Doctor stated as she cheerfully pulled boxes of a variety of berries from the refrigerator. Some of them were of shapes and colours that her companions had never seen before. After shutting the fridge again, she declared, “I’m making juice!”

What could go wrong? _Surely_ it had to be simpler than canning peaches; _Cosmopolitan_ had told her that canning fruits and vegetables was a crucial autumn tradition, and it had even sounded fun – in theory. In reality, she ended up burning most of the peaches when she left them to boil in sugary water for too long, broke several mason jars, and somehow ended up with singed eyebrows.

Mason jar art was much simpler, and far more fun, than putting mason jars to practical use.

“Juice?” Yaz asked, arching an eyebrow, and the Doctor nodded.

“Juice – or maybe smoothies? Smoothies sound more fun; like a milkshake, but with berries!”

“And kale?” Ryan asked, skeptically, and the Doctor rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand – or Graham. Even I didn’t understand it until recently.”

“Understand what, exactly?” Graham asked, furrowing his brow, and the Doctor sighed as she started dumping her assortment of berries into the galley’s blender.

“The importance of kale.”

“And why wouldn’t you expect us to understand?” Ryan asked, seeming rather put out. “What about Yaz? Does _she_ understand?”

Yaz opened her mouth to say no, that she did not, in fact, understand, but the Doctor beat her to the punch.

“Of _course_ Yaz understands,” she stated with absolute certainty. “It’s girl stuff.”

There it was again; _girl stuff._ First Beyoncé and Heart and Taylor Swift, and now _kale?_ What did any of that have to do with being a girl? Her companions were about to ask her precisely that, but the Doctor was already rushing from the galley, her coat flaring out behind her, as she shouted, “I’ve got to go and find some kale!”

 

 **Tip #8:** **_Push-up bras are your body armour and makeup is your war paint._ **

 

The Doctor was beginning to wonder if the people who wrote _Cosmopolitan_ ’s articles really knew what they were talking about. For one thing, push-up bras were _extremely_ uncomfortable and they appeared to have no tactical sufficiency whatsoever. The one that she was presently wearing had done nothing but chafe all day while they ran around revolutionary France in an attempt to stop technology from a crashed alien ship being used in the war effort. Push-up bras were  _completely_ impractical for preserving the fabric of human history. If someone had tried to stab her through the heart, the Doctor was certain that her “body armour” would have done nothing to stop them.

The only thing that seemed useful about her push-up bra was that it was an excellent place to store biscuits for later. She didn’t need _Cosmopolitan_ to figure that one out; she came to that conclusion all on her own.

She’d been sitting in her bedroom, munching on bra biscuits and flipping through her trusty copy of the aforementioned magazine, when she stumbled upon an article full of makeup tips. While nearly every other article in the magazine had been hyper-analyzed by the Doctor, who highlighted several sections and circled others in red marker and made notes in the margins (“ _Sagittarius most compatible with Taurus??????_ ”), this particular article had gone largely ignored. Makeup had never really called out to her. She thought that she looked fine just the way that she was. But…

_But…_

But her tenth self _had_ been a bit vain, what with the snazzy suits and the constant hair primping, to the point that River had called him “pretty boy” when they met in the Library – and being a “pretty boy” had gotten results, on certain occasions. Being pretty _was_ useful – a fact that _Cosmopolitan_ seemed adamant upon professing, if “10 Looks for Going from a Flop to on Top” was any indication. The only problem was that a two-dimensional page wasn’t much of a teacher when it came to the art of makeup application.

So, after stashing her magazine back in her jacket pocket, the Doctor ventured down the hall and knocked on Yaz’s bedroom door. When she answered and pulled an earbud out of her ear, the Doctor asked, “Will you teach me how to make my eyeliner ‘on point’?”

 

 **Tip #9:** **_Women take going out very seriously and they always drink martinis._ **

 

“Alright, fam! How do drinks on Ribos sound?”

Strolling into the console room with Yaz at her heels, the Doctor went about setting coordinates for the planet without missing a beat. Ryan and Graham, however, both had to do a double-take.

They had been waiting practically _all day_ for the Doctor and Yaz to grace them with their presence, to the point that both had assumed there would be no new adventure that day; thus, they had been comfortably lounging around the control room, Graham with a book from the TARDIS’s library and Ryan messing about on his phone.

They _hadn’t_ expected the Doctor to stroll into the control room as if everything was normal when she looked like… _that._

She was still dressed like she always did, with her coat, suspenders, and favourite Doc Martens, but… _but…!_

“Your face,” Ryan blurted out, gaping at her like she really _had_ sprouted a second head. “It’s… What happened to it?”

“Oi!” Yaz snapped in response, arms crossed over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Ryan. “Watch it. That’s some of my best work you’re criticizing. It’s arguably the most ‘on point’ anyone’s eyeliner has ever been.”

In Ryan’s defense, it _was_ rather a drastic change to see the Doctor go from fresh-faced and simple to completely dolled up, with smoky eyes, winged eyeliner, and pink lipstick. She liked the pink; she thought it complemented her hair.

“I think you look pretty, Doc,” Graham supplied, fumbling for a moment before he asked, “But, ehm… why? You’ve never worn makeup before.”

Shrugging as she flicked several switches to set the desired date, the Doctor offered up a small smile as she stated, “Just fancied a change.”

“A _big_ change,” Ryan muttered, still flabbergasted. Rolling her eyes, Yaz stepped on the biscuit dispenser pedal and lobbed one at him. It hit him square in the forehead, prompting him to shout, “ _Oi!_ ”

“Whether or not the Doctor wants to wear makeup is nobody’s business but hers,” Yaz stated, walking around the console. “She doesn’t need your approval.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor stated, adding, “It’s girl stuff.”

“What’s that even _mean?_ ” Ryan asked, under his breath so as to avoid inciting more of Yaz’s wrath.

As she turned a final dial and finished setting course, the Doctor grinned and asked, “Drinks? Ribos? Anyone?”

Hoping to diffuse some of the tension, Graham supplied, “I could go for a pint.”

Setting the TARDIS in motion, the Doctor smirked.

“You’ve never had a pint quite like these ones; I _guarantee_ it.”

 

 **Tip #9.25:** **_Women can never go to the bathroom alone. (You might not come back._ ** **_No woman_ ** **_has_ ** **_ever_ ** **_gone to the bathroom alone and survived.)_ **

 

Martinis, the Doctor decided, were inferior by far to banana daiquiris – but they were colourful, and the one she was currently drinking was the same shade of blue as the TARDIS, so she supposed they weren’t all bad.

They’d been drinking at a tavern in Shur for about an hour when Yaz, who had opted for white wine, got to her feet and mused, “Where d’you suppose the bathrooms are?”

The Doctor nearly choked on her blue martini when she heard what Yaz asked, a particular tip still fresh in her mind – one that she had circled, highlighted, and underlined extensively. It had seemed important at the time, and felt even _more_ important now, on a planet that none of her companions had ever been to before. Leaping to her feet, and nearly spilling her drink in the process, the Doctor declared, “I’ll go with you.”

Blinking, Yaz arched an eyebrow. “You really don’t have to. I’m sure I can find-”

“No, no; I’ll go. Us girls have to stick together, right?” the Doctor declared, weaving around the table and linking her arm through Yaz’s. Yaz looked bemused, but she shrugged and allowed the Doctor to lead her away from their table and through the tavern.

Once they slipped down the hallway that led to the lavatories, Yaz declared, “I really could’ve found it on my own, y’know.”

“Not a risk I was willing to take,” the Doctor disagreed, shaking her head as they joined the queue outside of the ladies’ room. “Going to the bathroom alone is very risky, you know. Some people never come back. Rose got lost, once, looking for a bathroom on the TARDIS; I didn’t realize the danger then, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I… _what?_ ” Yaz asked, blinking several times. Of all the wild, crazy, and _dangerous_ things she had done since stepping onto the TARDIS, the Doctor drew the line at _going to the bathroom alone?_ She had been acting so _strange_ lately.

When they reached the front of the queue and the Doctor made to walk into the bathroom, Yaz turned and held up a hand, stating, “Doctor, I’m going to tell you something important. I cannot stress this enough.”

Furrowing her brow, the Doctor tilted her head and waited for Yaz to continue.

Resting her hands on the Doctor’s shoulders, Yaz made sure she was listening before insisting, “I am a _grown woman,_ a _police officer,_ and I _promise you_ that I am _perfectly capable_ of going to the loo on my own.”

With that, Yaz slipped into the bathroom and shut the door in the Doctor’s face.

 

 **Tip #9.5:** **_Guys can eat whatever they want, but women must be dainty. (Salad is your best friend. Kale, remember?)_ **

 

Thankfully, Yaz wasn’t sucked into a parallel universe or devoured by Vashta Nerada while she was in the bathroom, but the Doctor was still rather perturbed when they regrouped back at the table. She’d only been trying to be a good friend, after all; _Cosmopolitan_ had insisted that girls should always accompany other girls to the bathroom. She hardly felt that doing so merited having a door shut in her face.

Her mood didn’t improve when a server came over to their table to take further drink orders and asked if anyone was hungry. Yaz had refused, but both Graham and Ryan had insisted on ordering ribs; Ribos was famous for its Medieval-style food, and anything meat-related was always to die for.

 _But women,_ the article still ringing in her ears reminded the Doctor, _must always be dainty._

So, with her nose wrinkled the entire time, she ordered herself another martini and a salad – with extra kale.

That didn’t mean that she was happy about doing it.

 

 **Tip #10:** **_A woman’s smile is her Jedi mind-trick. If used properly, she can get away with anything._ **

 

“Psychic paper, psychic paper – _where’s the psychic paper?_ ”

The Doctor was rifling through her coat pockets for the object in question while they stood on the outskirts of a military compound just outside of London, 1982. The TARDIS had picked up on a distress call – distinctly alien – from somewhere inside, and when someone calls for help, the Doctor never refuses.

It was going to be difficult to help, though, if they couldn’t even get in. _Where was the blasted psychic paper?_

Continuing her search, face scrunched up in concentration, the Doctor paused when her hand brushed not against the psychic paper, but against her handy-dandy _Cosmopolitan,_ now growing rather worse-for-the-wear. Since obtaining it she had been tried as a witch and nearly drowned, had various tousles and tumbles on a number of adventures, and taken several naps using her coat as a blanket. The result was that her magazine was now water-damaged, crumpled, and torn at the edges.

She did, however, remember one particular tip that could prove useful right about now. It had been something about a woman’s smile being her most powerful weapon; there had been a _Star Wars_ reference in there somewhere. That had to be a good sign, right? It was the eighties; people loved _Star Wars_ in the eighties. Well, people had _always_ loved _Star Wars,_ but _especially_ during the eighties.

“Yaz,” the Doctor whispered from where they were presently hiding behind a cluster of trees, “I need to borrow your lipstick.”

Yaz just blinked. Surely the Doctor was joking? When it became clear that she wasn’t, Yaz stated, “I don’t have any lipstick on me.”

Furrowing her brow, the Doctor turned to look at Yaz and asked, “You don’t carry lipstick on you at all times?”

Frowning with confusion, Yaz said, “No. Do you?”

“No - we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I did - but that’s _different._ I’m still new at this.”

“New at _what_ , Doctor?” Yaz asked with exasperation.

“ _Girl stuff,_ ” the Doctor hissed as though it should be obvious, and Ryan groaned pointedly behind them.

“Again with the _girl stuff_ nonsense. What are you on about?”

Shushing him when a guard walked by dangerously close to their hiding spot, the Doctor sighed heavily.

“I’ll just have to make do without the lipstick,” she declared, slipping through the trees and heading toward the gate. Exchanging worried glances, Yaz, Ryan, and Graham all followed her.

She was going to need to channel nearly all of her _Cosmopolitan_ knowledge to pull this one off.

“Hello there… _you,_ ” the Doctor mused as she sidled up to the guard on duty.

“Is she… _flirting?_ ” Ryan asked, horrified, as they kept a reasonable distance.

“Not sure if I’d call that flirting,” Graham retorted.

Yaz suddenly found herself wishing that she _did_ carry lipstick. Perhaps it could’ve salvaged this mess somehow.

The guard, a burly man with greying hair, gave the Doctor a once-over before returning his gaze to the road leading up to the gate. He narrowed his eyes when he caught sight of Yaz, Ryan, and Graham all loitering about, looking equal parts horrified and distressed

“Civilians aren’t allowed on the premises,” he stated in a clearly unaffected tone, and the Doctor resisted the urge to sigh _very_ heavily. If she had her psychic paper, she could just convince this bloke that they _weren’t_ civilians and they could be on their merry way. But she _didn’t_ have her psychic paper, so she really had no choice; she had to use her… ‘feminine wiles’.

“But my friends and I, we just find the work that you do… so _fascinating_ ,” the Doctor mused, well aware that her tone sounded more forced than flirtatious. Perhaps _Cosmopolitan_ wouldn’t quite be enough in this scenario. She needed to bring out the big guns.

_She needed to channel Jack Harkness. When in doubt, what would Jack do?_

_Invade somebody’s personal space and whip out a cheesy one-liner, that’s what Jack would do._

Subtly moving closer to the guard, the Doctor tip-toed her fingers up his chest, playfully asking, “What’s a handsome bloke like you doing guarding a place like this?”

Glancing down at her fingers, the guard arched an eyebrow. Then, to the Doctor’s immense surprise, he _smirked._

 _Thank you, Captain Jack,_ she thought to herself. Behind her, all three of her companions were gaping like fish.

“They only employ the best around here,” the guard stated. The Doctor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew a thing or two about spotting the best humans, and this bloke was decidedly not one of them. Nevertheless, she persisted.

“I can see that,” she mused, batting her eyelashes. “I have a certain… _sense_ when it comes to people. Tell me, won’t you – why all the security? Why do they need the best of the best to guard an empty military base?”

“Well, um… It’s not exactly empty. I can’t tell you what’s in there, though; y’know, it’s classified.”

Maybe Jack wouldn’t be enough, then. Maybe she had to whip out the biggest gun of them all. The smoking gun that had always made her cave, back in the day, whether it be about travelling back to meet a family member that definitely should not have been met, or doing so again in a parallel world that they shouldn’t even have been in.

Staring up at the guard with big hazel eyes, the Doctor flashed Rose Tyler’s patented tongue-touched, cheeky smile, winding her arms around the guard’s arm as she playfully asked, “If you can’t tell me, why don’t you _show_ me?”

The guard stared down at the Doctor with wide eyes, his pupils blown, and floundered for something to say. His cheeks were turning red. It was working, he was wavering, he was-

“I… I _can’t_ ,” he stammered, his gaze flitting between the pretty blonde woman who was accosting him and her lurking group of friends. “And… And you people really shouldn’t be here! I’m going to have to call this in and have you escorted-”

Her smile slipping, the Doctor heaved a heavy sigh.

 

 **Tip #11:** **_Always carry a handful of glitter._ **

 

Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed a tablet near the bottom and crushed it between her fingers, pulling her hand out quickly and blowing the shimmering dust into the guard’s face. He blinked a few times, seeming rather dazed and confused, and then he slumped down onto the ground, unconscious. Crouching down, the Doctor grabbed his keys and set about unlocking the gate.

Yaz, Ryan, and Graham all rushed to her side.

“What was that?” Graham asked, gawking at the unconscious guard, and the Doctor shrugged as she tugged the gate open and gestured them all inside.

“A concentrated anesthetic powder. He should be out long enough for us to figure out what’s going on inside.”

“Why didn’t you just use that from the start?” Yaz asked, frowning with confusion as they all headed toward the main building of the base, the Doctor still holding onto the guard’s keyring.

“Wouldn’t have worked; you’ve got to be close enough to blow it into their nose or mouth. It was a last resort; I _really_ thought that smile was going to work.”

“ _Why?_ ” Ryan asked, frowning as he added, “And so help me, if you say ‘girl stuff’ again, I’ll-”

“It always worked on me,” the Doctor cut him off as she unlocked a side door and strode inside.

Ryan and Graham both looked baffled, but Yaz stared after the Doctor with a sad sort of sympathy in her eyes as she followed her inside.

 

 **Fact #1:** **_Women are_ ** **_always_ ** **_cold._ **

 

 _Cosmopolitan,_ the Doctor was slowly learning, was wrong about a great many things – but there _were_ things that the writers got right, namely those which involved female biology. The Doctor had really and truly hoped that she would be above the problems that human females had with their bodies, but her estrogen-fueled emotional episode had proved otherwise.

So too was it proven by the fact that she was always bloody _freezing._ The coat wasn’t just an aesthetic choice, even if it did look _amazing;_ it was her only safeguard against the fact that her blood seemed to consist of ice and that the TARDIS was even icier.

“Has it _always_ been this cold in here?” she aimed up at the ceiling as she lay huddled in her bed, wrapped up in flannel pyjamas, her coat, Rose’s pink blanket, one of Donna’s favourite afghans, a quilt of Clara’s, and her standard sheets and duvet. The TARDIS hummed an affirmative answer.

“Well, why didn’t you _say_ anything? Everybody must’ve been freezing!” she complained.

Another affirmative hum from the TARDIS.

The Doctor frowned weakly and burrowed deeper into her blanket cocoon. Why was she always so bloody oblivious? There were so many things that she could have done differently, so many miscommunications and situations that she could have prevented, if only Big Ears, Crazy Hair, Mr. Bowtie, and the Grey-haired Scot had _paid attention…_

But it was too late now – too late for so many things. All that she could do was learn from her mistakes and try to do better in the future. Pursing her lips, she looked up at the ceiling again and said, “Check the thermal readings for the others, yeah? See if they’re cold. If they are, raise the temperature exponentially.” Pausing, she added a hesitant – and almost apologetic – “Please?”

Once again, the TARDIS hummed an – admittedly happier – affirmative.

 

 **Fact #2:** **_A woman never knows where she’s going because she’s running on Girl GPS (i.e. when you_ ** **_think_ ** **_that you know where you’re going, but you never really do)._ **

 

Yet another _Cosmopolitan_ fact made the Doctor wonder if, perhaps, she was meant to be a woman all along. There was evidently something called ‘Girl GPS’ – or an inherent feeling that you _think_ you’re going in the right direction but usually aren’t. It was different from ‘Boy GPS’ – i.e. knowing perfectly well that you’re lost but refusing to ask for directions out of sheer stubbornness and stupidity.

Looking up through the thick cover of trees over their heads in the forest that they were walking (rather aimlessly) through, the Doctor declared, “I think the capital is… this way.”

Just as her companions had started moving in the indicated direction, she held up a hand and exclaimed, “No, wait!”

They froze.

Bending down, the Doctor took a clump of soil on her fingertip and popped it into her mouth, letting it linger on her tongue while she held her finger up to test the wind. After a long moment of pondering, she moved her hand slightly to the left of where she had originally pointed.

“It’s _that_ way. I’m sure of it.”

And so they set off in the indicated direction, blissfully unaware that the capital was actually in the opposite direction entirely.

 

 **Tip #12: Every woman loves** **_FRIENDS, Love Actually,_ ** **braiding hair, candy, cake, cookies, box wine, low-fat pizza, muffins, brownies,** **_50 Shades of Grey,_ ** **and** **_Grey’s Anatomy._ **

 

The Doctor tried to like everything that _Cosmopolitan_ told her that she should like. She really, really did. If she wanted to master being a woman, then it was important to listen to the experts; that’s what she told herself. But she could only watch so many episodes of _FRIENDS_ before Ross became too unbearable; _Love Actually_ just made her feel lonely; braiding her hair took far too long when there were more important things that she could be doing; box wine was inferior to the various wines she had in the TARDIS’s wine cellar; low-fat pizza was _criminal_ and utterly ridiculous; and _50 Shades of Grey_ was far too abusive for her tastes. She would give the columnists candy, cake, cookies, muffins, and brownies – but she hardly thought that those counted. _Everybody_ loved candy, cake, cookies, muffins, and brownies; not just women.

 _Grey’s Anatomy_ was when she finally snapped.

Yaz, as it turned out, _did_ like _Grey’s Anatomy,_ so perhaps the magazine wasn’t completely wrong. She had agreed to binge watch it with the Doctor, not bothering to question her sudden interest in the show. After three seasons, the Doctor finally snapped.

“That’s _it!_ I can’t take it anymore! I can’t! I refuse!”

Yaz, who had been engrossed in the current episode, paused her popcorn halfway to her mouth when the Doctor leapt to her feet and started pacing around the media room.

“Why do I have to fancy Doctor McDreamy? What’s so special about him? _My_ hair used to be better than his, and – no! Y’know what? My hair _still is_ better than his! And just _look at him!_ He hasn’t even got a pair of brainy specs! What sort of a doctor doesn’t have brainy specs? I don’t fancy him, and I _won’t!_ I used to _be_ ‘Doctor McDreamy’ and now I can’t be anymore because I’m a woman? What sort of a rubbish system is that? He’s got nothing that I don’t have!”

Yaz blinked, several times, and let her popcorn fall back into the bowl. After a moment of staring at the Doctor, whose cheeks were flushed an angry shade of pink, she asked, “Who said you have to fancy Doctor McDreamy?”

“ _Cosmopolitan_ said so!” the Doctor exclaimed, tugging her now decrepit magazine from her jacket pocket and tossing it down onto the coffee table, scowling down at it. “Page 23: ‘The Essential List of Steamy McDreamy Episodes’. As if _Steamy McDreamy_ is the show’s only selling point,” the Doctor scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Yaz couldn’t help it; staring down at the tattered remains of the Doctor’s magazine, she exhaled a short laugh and asked, “Why’re you reading _Cosmo?_ Everybody knows it’s all stuff and nonsense. It’s what girls read in the dentist’s waiting room when they’ve got nothing better to do.”

Frowning with confusion at Yaz’s explanation, the Doctor sat back down on the couch and tugged the magazine closer, pointing to one of the many headlines on the cover.

_“Finding the Woman in You: A Girl’s Guide to Self-Discovery”_

Yaz stared at the cover for a long moment before the Doctor admitted, “It seemed like it would be useful at the time.”

Frowning, Yaz reached out and flipped through the magazine, scoffing with disdain at the ‘tips’ being sold within it. Kale diets? Push-up bra ads? Well, at least now the “you’ll die if you go to the bathroom alone” spiel made more sense.

“They don’t even have the most important tip in here, y’know,” Yaz stated, making a point of reaching into the Doctor’s coat pocket and tugging out a marker. On the cover, front and centre, she wrote:

 **Tip #13:** **_A woman must always be herself._ **

Staring down at the ‘tip’, clearly conflicted, the Doctor stated, “But I don’t _know_ who I am. Not completely. I know who I _was,_ but… I’m _different_ now. Not wholly, but partially.” Making a face, she grumbled, “I never used to cry over Sarah McLachlan songs.”

“You’re not going to find who you are in the pages of a magazine, Doctor,” Yaz stated, tossing the _Cosmopolitan_ aside for emphasis. “You can only figure that out by doing what makes you happy. No more kale, no more martinis, and no more replacing every teacup in the galley with mason jars. That’s not _you._ ”

Mulling over Yaz’s advice, the Doctor made a thoughtful face before stating, “I did sort of like the eyeliner, though. Ryan and Graham’s faces made getting poked in the eye once or twice worth it.”

Snickering, Yaz leaned back into the sofa and nodded. “Keep the eyeliner, then. It’s been looking _very_ ‘on point’ lately.”

“And Instagram is pretty fun,” the Doctor added, leaning her cheek against her palm.

“Then keep Instagram, too. Keep whatever makes you happy, and toss the rest of that nonsense out.”

Nodding, the Doctor allowed her shoulders to relax, feeling like a weight had been lifted from them. Living up to _Cosmopolitan_ ’s expectations of what sort of woman she ought to be was next to impossible. If it had made _her_ miserable, how must it make human women feel?

Nudging the Doctor to pull her out of her reverie, Yaz smirked and mused, “You can still be Doctor McDreamy as a woman, you know.”

A rather smug twinkle lighting up the Doctor’s eyes, she nabbed a bit of Yaz’s popcorn as she declared, “Of course I know. I’m _the_ Doctor McDreamy. Derek Shepherd wishes he could be me.”

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, the Doctor tossed her tattered copy of _Cosmopolitan_ into the bin and didn’t think twice about it.

She kept the page about Sagittarius and Taurus, though. That one still made her smile.


End file.
